The problem with...

...trying to forge an alternative career as a romance novelist is - I know shit-all about romance.

I think one of the most depressing questions I've ever been asked is, "What's the most romantic thing that's ever happened to you?"

To which I replied, "Errr... nothing. The only time I ever got flowers was when the Ex knew he'd been a major dick and was in big trouble" :P

I know nothing about random love notes, random love surprises, random I-love-you-just-because moments, random sweep-me-off-my-feet-Mr-Darcy gestures. Does anyone?!?

What on earth made me think about being a romance writer to begin with?

Well, honestly? I was busy mocking all the crappy Mills&Boons novels out there and thinking I could do better. Come on... Greek tycoon subjugates Wild Beauty?!? Down-to-earth ambitious Heroine tames arrogant and obnoxious Rich Billionaire? Come on!!

Huh... What do I know... At least after a glass of white, I was able to knock out a page of "breathtaking" dates. No shirt ripping or throbbing genitals though. I think that might take a whole bottle of white... I'm starting to understand why Keats was always wasted when he wrote poetry :P